


light a match

by EVVS



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, Death, Established Relationship, M/M, Winterhawk Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 00:18:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4856060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EVVS/pseuds/EVVS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missions aren't supposed to go wrong. They can miss a mark or maybe have a little extra collateral, but it's not supposed to be as bad as this.</p><p>“She’s dead, Clint.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	light a match

**Author's Note:**

> Winterhawk Week 2015 - Day 3 Prompt: Hot

At the sound of the phone going off, Clint hisses a quick “shit” before throwing the kitchen towel over his shoulder and going to actually track down his cell, which has been lost in the mess that is currently the kitchen. Clint swore he’d make Bucky dinner when he got back, so he’s been fucking around in the kitchen for the whole week Bucky’s been gone to try and figure out something he could make without scorching. So far, no luck.

He tracks the ringing to somewhere next to the sink and fumbles to wipe off his hands real quick before moving dishes and- there it is, awesome. He smirks at the sight of the ID picture on the screen: it’s Bucky calling, and Clint’s got this great picture of Bucky, with his hair all tied up in a messy bun, kissing Clint’s cheek, which has at least two band-aids on it. Clint loves that picture.

Clint uses his pinky to swipe the screen and one more tap puts it on speaker. “Hey, babe,” he says, leaning against the counter to survey his mess. “Callin’ to say g’night?”

“I was worried you weren’t gonna pick up, Barton.”

“I’ll always pick up for you, you know that.” Clint eyes the phone, where he can still see that picture of Bucky smiling as he kisses him, and that’s what he wants right now. It’s only been a week, but it feels like a lifetime. “I love hearing your voice. You always sound all rough and tough and Brooklyn. It’s great.” He’s smiling. Just thinking about Bucky always gets him grinning. Pathetic.

On the other end, Bucky scoffs a laugh. Then a pause. “Don’t get sappy right now, please.” He sounds like he’s practically begging.

Time to play suspicious. But maybe also a little teasing. “You don’t want me to get mushy in front of whoever you’re with?” Clint’s smile has fallen only a little because he knows something’s up. He knows Bucky’s got his damn pride and doesn’t beg often. Only when they’re in bed and Clint’s on top.

“I’m with Natalia.”

“Tash?” Clint rolls his eyes. It’s fine. He moves to go back to the stove where he’s got tortellini boiling, the internet said that was easy enough to cook, he could probably manage a decent Italian meal for Bucky. “Nat loves watching you get flustered, it’ll be hilari—”

“She’s dead, Clint.”

—and he’s paused because it feels like his chest has just caved in on him. His… partner… Tasha…

“And I’m not gonna be able to bring her home either.”

It’s like Bucky is just trying to pile on all the bad news on at once so Clint doesn’t have time to react. But, standing in the kitchen of their shared Bed-Stuy apartment, Clint’s just… sad? tired? annoyed? Because why the _hell_ is Natasha dead, who wasn’t watching her back, what the fuck happened. Clint can’t ask all these things because the words aren’t happening right now, his mouth is moving, but it’s just a quiver of his lips as he tries to process everything at once.

Natasha is dead. Bucky can’t bring her body back. Clint is… frustrated, distraught, heartbroken.

But that’s not all, no, because Bucky has to pile it on heavier:

“Clint, I’m not comin’ back.”

Now the words are there as he shouts, “The fuck you mean you’re not coming back?!”

When there’s just heavy breathing on the other end of the line, Clint knows. He doesn’t like it, but he knows. And it’s like something is collapsing inside of him as Bucky says slowly, “I’m pinned down. Locked in a room for now. Practically in the middle of the base.”

“Jesus” is all Clint manages to get out because he can’t even imagine. And he’s leaning with his elbows against the counter, his eyes watching the pot that’s boiling his tortellini, but his mind is building a visual representation of Bucky’s situation. Thinking of it has Clint feeling like he’s trapped. He rakes a hand through his hair, trying to keep himself calm.

“Yeah, it’s… it’s bad.” Bucky sounds uncertain, and that’s got Clint’s stomach in all kinds of knots. “But, there’s, uh, there’s some good news.”

Bucky said he’s not coming home. To Clint, there can’t be any kind of good news. Not unless that fact’ll change. Still, he asks, “What’s that?” Because he knows Bucky wants him to not cry right now. They’re both professionals. This is the way it goes. Clint should be grateful he at least gets to hear Bucky’s voice one more time. That voice that’s all rough and tough and Brooklyn.

Clint discovers that his eyes are wet and hot.

On the other end, Bucky’s voice is soft. “I think I’m in their bomb storage.”

This takes… a few seconds for Clint to process. But “oh god” barely passes his lips as he sucks in a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair. He’s built Bucky’s scenario in his mind, and maybe there are ways out, but he can’t see them, he doesn’t have all the information he needs-

“Clint, you gotta tell me you’re okay with this, and then I’m gonna light myself a victory cigar, and then I’m gonna set this place to blow.”

“Are you sure there’s no way out?” he asks desperately; he’s got to cling to something right now, and as much as he’s grasping for straws, he’s also leaning against the counter and gripping the edge with one hand, hoping that’ll hold him upright.

“Not unless SHIELD is here in the next five minutes ‘cause those doors aren’t holdin’ out much longer.” He almost sounds like he’s got a little laugh in his voice; at what, Clint has no idea. Bucky continues, “I can just say a prayer, take my cigar, and light this place up.”

He’s trying not to think of what comes next. Bucky. Natasha. The burning flesh, the charred body, the fire, the smell, oh god, the smell-

“Clint.”

His voice is shaking. “I don’t want you to,” he says softly. Clint knows it’s futile. He knows those words won’t change Bucky’s mind.

And they don’t. Because Barnes says, “I have to. This has to end sometime.”

The words are thick and true when Clint goes, “It’s never going to end.”

HYDRA has been around for longer than either of them. HYDRA won’t go away overnight. One base won’t fix anything. They haven’t managed to find more information in the last few, just the remnants of pages ruined in the crossfire. Just like everything else. A path of destruction.

“It won’t end.” Bucky sounds so tired. So damn tired. “It never will.” There’s a pause and some rustling. “But I won’t let ‘em take me again. And I won’t let ‘em keep runnin’ this base.”

Clint can’t find the words to respond. They’re all caught in his throat as he’s trying not to imagine how empty his bed will feel tonight. How he’ll never actually get a chance to make Bucky dinner; the pot on the stove is about to boil over.

There are so many things caught in the web of his mind: the first time he met Bucky, that one time they punched the shit out of each other, all the nightmares they rode out side-by-side, every single kiss that was ever shared-

“Clint?”

He rubs a hand across his face. God, the world feels so heavy. “Yeah?” His throat is thick with a sob, and the word comes out sticky.

“I love you.”

Keeping it together isn’t going to happen. “I love you too, Buck.” Clint tries to sound as stable as he can, but it’s like everything is slipping. He’s a professional. He knew this day would come. He just… didn’t expect it to come like this.

“I’ll see you on the other side someday, yeah?”

“Not too soon,” Clint promises slowly. “But you gotta keep an eye on Tash for me, deal?”

Bucky laughs. That little snort of a laugh thing he does. Clint can imagine the half-smile that smeared across his face. And, still sounding good-humored, Bucky responds, “I think I can manage that.”

He’s crying. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes are hot, his face is wet, and he is an absolute mess. Clint’s trying to handle this with grace and failing miserably. Everything has to go south at some point.

“I love you,” Clint says one more time for good measure. He needs to make sure Bucky knows. He has to make sure that Bucky knows he’s loved and that he’s appreciated and that he’s the best damn thing, and Clint can’t find a way to put all that into words, not now—

He’s slow to respond, but he eventually breathes, “I love you too.”

**BANG**

The line cuts to static.

His legs refuse to hold him up anymore.

The pot on the stove has boiled over.

The smoke alarm warns of a fire.

Clint already knows.

**Author's Note:**

> This whole piece has been on my mind since July when I was at work and Rachel Platten's "Fight Song" came on. Cried a little bit while writing it, oops
> 
> Happy Winterhawk Week!
> 
> Hit me up at skylarkevanson on tumblr


End file.
